The air is filled with Boone’s cologne and presence. There’s something slightly different about him tonight—something sexier. I wonder if it’s the mojito or if he’s put in a little more effort knowing he was coming to see me.
I hope it’s the latter. It’s probably the former.
Either way, it’s fine by me.
Navie hands Boone a beer before he touches me lightly on the arm. My gaze flips to his as my body misfires.
“Do you want to sit here or find a booth?” he asks.
“Find a booth,” Navie cuts in. When we look at her, she flushes. “Sorry. You didn’t ask me.”
Boone laughs. “Well, your opinion is welcome. Is there somewhere you suggest?”
I don’t know exactly what goes through Navie’s mind, but she snorts. I bury my face in my hands.
Peck chuckles. “Take the booth in the back. It’ll be the quietest. This place will get rowdy soon.”
“Thanks.” Boone stands. “You ready?”
“Yup.” I get to my feet and lift my drink. Before I turn around, Navie catches my gaze.
He’s so hot, she mouths.
I nod but look away before I think about it too much and get nervous.
Following him to the back of the bar isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever done. His butt is round and fills out the back of his jeans like nobody’s business. I’d follow him anywhere, especially if anywhere was a bed.
He waits for me to get situated before sitting across from me. I want to stare at him, but don’t. Partly because it’s rude and partly because it’ll cause words to stop flowing to my mouth and that would make me look dumb.
There’s something about the smaller space, the more intimate quarters, that makes my heart pound a little harder in my chest.
“How’s your foot?” he asks.
“Nice ice breaker.”
He smiles. “Should I have started with … you look hot as fuck tonight?”
I look down at my shirt mostly to avoid his eyes for a second. “I’m glad you like this shirt. I’ve had it for years.”
“The shirt is great. But I really meant that you look great in it.” He grins. “I think you’d probably look great in anything though.”
“Stop charming me,” I say with a laugh.
“Why?”
“It’s not necessary.”
He takes a long draw of his beer. Watching me over the bottle, his brows are pulled tight.
“Being charming is a lot of work,” I say.
His bottle rests on the table. “Maybe for some. It comes quite natural to me.”
“Oh.” I nod like I’m humoring him.
“It does,” he insists. “I mean, I managed to get dinner with you based on about thirty minutes of charm.”
“You managed to get dinner with me because I enjoy not having to buy my meals and I haven’t had anyone ask me out in a while. I need practice.”